


Valhalla

by Norsenightingale



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Dom/sub, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Sex, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-03 18:39:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10973079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norsenightingale/pseuds/Norsenightingale
Summary: Siv is an advanced village healer and childhood friend of the Ragnarssons. When Ivar returns from battle he wonders if there is something more to his friendship with her, or if his brother, Sigurd, had already claimed what he knows belongs to him.





	1. Homecoming

The Gods have spoken of this night, he was sure of it. Ivar smiled as he looked out across the field before him, his warriors crying out victory as they ran against the last wall of enemy forces. He loved these moments. When he was in battle he didn’t feel broken and useless like he often did in Kattegat, here in his chariot surrounded by war and pain, was where Ivar felt whole.

The smell of fresh blood met his nostrils and an evil smile tickled the corners of his lips. ‘Let it pour’ he thought, the more blood spilled on the battlefield is less that needs to be spilled in the village. He gripped the handle of his ax tightly, swinging it to the left of him where it struck an opposing soldier with a satisfying ‘thwack’. Oh yes, here is where he felt whole.

A sharp cry of, “We’ve done it! They’re retreating!” was the only thing that pulled him out of his battle mind-set. Looking down at where the voice was coming from, Ivar found his brother Ubbe, who was bounding his way quickly to him. Ubbe chuckled wholly, flinging himself up into his younger brother’s chariot and tackling him in a hug.

“He’s surrendered, Ivar. Kapari is ours for the taking.” The older man tugged on his shoulder, slightly shaking him with the good news, and Ivar laughed with him.

“It’s been a long few months, Ubbe, and you stink of gore.” He teased, pushing his brother off of him and onto the hard ground. Ubbe wasn’t thinking clearly, high on the adrenaline from the new victory, so he ignored Ivar’s shove and threw his hands up to the sky.

“Hail, Odin! Victory belongs to us!” Ivar joined in his brother’s cry, raising a fist to the heavens as well. As the men in the field began to hear the chants, they too joined in, rushing to celebrate the defeat and the end of a long war. Ubbe dropped to his knees, placing his forehead on the ground and thanking the Gods above for the good fortune. Ivar was not one for large shows of faith such as Ubbe, but he too bowed his head and praised the forces at work at this moment. “Tonight, we celebrate the Gods, for tomorrow, we return home with the spoils of war!”

Ivar beamed at the thought of the night’s grand feast, he was sure there would be so much ale that he would not even remember his own name, but the thought of returning ‘home’ made his face fall. Kattegat hadn’t exactly been ‘home’ since his father died, but that was where his roots began, so he supposed it was as close to a home as he had. He shook himself from the creeping depression, choosing to focus on the joy around him, instead. The men began breaking off and marching back in the direction of camp, various conversations of a light nature going on all around.

Ivar cleared his throat as he rode next to Ubbe, gaining his brother’s attention. “No doubt you will be happy to return to Margrethe,” he spoke, “she must be completely round with child at this point.” Ivar mocked his sister-in-law, sticking out his arms to mimic a large, round stomach in front of him. Ubbe beamed at the thought of his wife and unborn child, nodding in agreement. She had just begun to show signs of the child when the group left and they had been gone for several months now.

“Yes, but she may have already had the babe.” He spoke fondly, thinking about the quickest route back to Kattegat so he would be able to see for himself. “What do you think it is?” Ubbe wondered, “Are you going to have a niece or a nephew, Ivar?”

The younger brother scoffed as if it was the most ridiculous question in the world. “It’s a girl, of course. I don’t think you’d be fortunate enough to put a boy in her the first time.” Ivar laughed, gently knocking into his brother with the butt of his ax. Ubbe grumbled, rubbing the area in his middle that had been struck with the wooden handle.

“You are horrid even in happy times, Ivar, and you are wrong. Margrethe had been eating all the apples she could get her hands on before we left - Siv said that means it’s a boy.” Ivar visibly stiffened at that name, he hadn’t heard it in ages and suddenly his stomach felt knotty and twisted, his face reddening with the thought of her. “Oh! You miss her, don’t you?” Ubbe teased.

Ivar snarled, striking his brother in his chest once more, hard enough to knock the wind out of him this time. “I do not. Those types of emotions make you soft, and I will not become a pile of mush, like you.”

The older man groaned, gasping to try and regain his breath from his brother’s attack. “Vile bastard you are,” he wheezed, “deny it all you want - the pink of your cheeks like a small boy gives you away.”

Ivar knew he was right, he could feel the hot flush on his face as he thought about the young woman back in Kattegat, but he refused to give Ubbe the satisfaction of being correct. “Siv is a friend and nothing more. Extract your mind from the hole it fell into.”

Ubbe grinned, knowing that Ivar was becoming irritated because of the sensitive topic of conversation. “What was it she gave you before you left? A good luck trinket?” He pried, pressing his brother’s emotions just enough for fun, but trying to avoid a complete beating. Ivar involuntarily reached to his neck, grasping the small, red stone that hung there with braided leather.

“I only agreed to take it to ease her mind, it means nothing.” He insisted, stroking the stone once with his thumb and then dropping it back into the cover of his armor. “Besides, at least I do not have my woman permanently marked on my body.” He teased, referring to the letters of Margrethe’s name spanning across his brother’s forearm.

Ubbe’s large shoulders shrugged and he continued to grin, picking up on Ivar’s peculiar choice of words.“Ah, ‘your’ woman, then? Tell me, brother, how many men would refer to a friend as their property?” This time, Ubbe was expecting the blow and fell back just in time to miss Ivar’s assault. “Almost had me!” He bellowed, proud of his quick maneuver.

Ivar rolled his eyes in exhaustion, placing the ax down inside the chariot next to him. “This conversation is finished, and I do not need you inspecting my speech like a nurse maid,” he scolded. “I will be as happy to see Siv as I am happy to see my dogs.” He knew it was a lie, but the quicker he could get Ubbe off the topic the better. He didn’t like the way thinking about her made his chest tighten, it surely was a sign of his weakness, and he was not about to let that become known.

“Fine, fine. I won’t speak of her again until we get back to Kattegat.” Ubbe agreed, stopping in front of the large tent that the brothers had shared for the last few months. Ubbe began to untie the horse pulling Ivar’s chariot but paused when Ivar spoke up again.

“What do you mean ‘until we get back to Kattegat’? Why would that change anything?” He snapped, not allowing his brother to get the best of him. Ubbe raised his hands in a sign of surrender, returning to release the large horse from its ropes.

“Relax yourself Ivar, I didn’t mean anything by it. Siv is the best healer in the village and someone is going to have to tend to those wounds of yours - and mine, for that matter.” Ivar sulked back as he watched Ubbe release the horse, defeated that he knew his brother was correct. “I’m sure she will be the first one on the coast when the ships dock, you know how she is.”

Ivar did know, he knew very well how she was. Siv had trained in Ireland with the Celts for nearly a year, learning their advanced styles of medicine and healing. She had the biggest heart he had ever seen, frantically attending to anyone sick or hurt in the village. It infuriated him sometimes when all he wanted was to be with his childhood friend, but she was whisked away to deal with every sniffle and scratch. He huffed as he thought about it, knowing that it was selfish but really didn’t care in the slightest.

“Fine, then you may speak of her.” Ivar begrudgingly agreed. “Where is Hvitserk?” He asked suddenly, looking around the sea of Vikings for the familiar face. Ubbe shrugged, stepping to the side of the chariot so that Ivar could maneuver his way out onto the ground.

“I do not know, probably already in the center of camp celebrating.” He laughed, thinking about the alcohol-filled evening ahead. Ivar moved so that his legs were tucked underneath his body and began crawling alongside his brother. “What do you say, Ivar, are you up for a bit of a drinking game?” He seemed intrigued at the prospect, nodding for Ubbe to continue. “Every time Hvitserk mentions the infamous bear, drink.”

“A game like that could make you wish you were dead,” Ivar chuckled. “I accept the challenge.”


	2. It Worked

It had been a long few weeks back on the warships. Kattegat was typically only a twelve day trip by water, but extreme weather had caused the group to shift off course, delaying their arrival almost another entire week. The men were tired of each others’ presence, all exhausted and antsy to get back home to their families. Ivar sulked on the deck, his eyes drifting out across the rolling waves.

His fingers unintentionally spun around the gem on his neck, the smooth stone seeming to calm his nerves. “It’s a fire opal,” Siv had told him, “I put a charm on it so that it will protect you and bring you home safe to me.” He smiled slightly when he thought of her, of how happy she would be to see him. Surely she would be the first one on the beach to greet him, and he wondered if he should use his crutches so he could be standing to hug her.

She had never seen him on his crutches before, he realized. When the group had left she was busy tending to a sick child, so she would have no idea of the new devices. The shock on her face alone would be worth the slight pain they caused his arms; yes, he decided, he was definitely going to use them.

“Floki said he saw a seagull,” Ubbe said, sitting down next to his brother on the deck. “Land must be close. Won’t be long now, Ivar.” He grunted at his brother, not feeling like talking at the moment, but it was clear Ubbe wasn’t going to leave him to his thoughts.

“Do you need something from me?” Ivar irritably asked, hoping that his brother would understand he didn’t care for his presence at the moment. Ubbe shrugged, grabbing a chunk of bread off of Ivar’s forgotten plate.

“No, just wondering why you’re pouting.” Ivar rolled his eyes, snatching the food back from him and throwing it out into the blue water. “Hey!”

He chuckled at Ubbe’s angry outburst, suddenly much more content to be talking to him.

“What? It’s not like you need it,” he teased “I thought Margrethe was the one carrying the child, not you.” Ubbe grumbled something unintelligible and decided to leave Ivar alone, walking away with his shoulders hunched. Ivar sniggered at his brother’s ridiculousness, turning back to rest his arms on the side of the ship.

He had also seen the seagulls that Floki was talking about, meaning that land wasn’t very far away. Seagulls didn’t fly more than a few miles out to sea, so they would probably be docking late that evening or early in the morning. His fingers returned to the small trinket, rolling it around in his palm as he thought of Kattegat.

Ivar silently wondered if anything would have changed since they left. Seven months is a long time to be away, and it seemed like nothing could ever stay still in that village, anyway. It didn’t take long for his thoughts to drift back to Siv, pondering what she might be doing at the very moment. He felt his gut twist as he remembered his brother, Sigurd. With the other Ragnarssons leaving to battle, someone had to stay behind to tend to political matters, and he had all to eagerly volunteered.

Sigurd had made his intentions to court Siv quite clear before they left, and Ivar had threatened him with his very life if he did. He decided not to focus on the sickening thoughts of his brother and best friend, opting to leave the deck and turn in for the night, instead. As he crawled into his cot, he silently prayed to the Gods to return him to a calm and simple life, as quickly as possible.

*****************************

Ivar was awoken suddenly to the insistent shaking of his hammock.

“Ivar,” Floki shouted at him, “we can see the coast, get your crippled ass out of bed!” He shot up quickly, staring straight ahead at the excited face of his family friend. Ivar smiled at him at the news, grasping his shoulder tightly in a greeting.

“It’s true, Floki? We’re almost back?” He beamed at the younger man, pointing out the small window above his sleeping quarters at the newly appeared land. Ivar wasted no time, then, quickly buckling the braces onto his legs and preparing his crutches to walk up to the deck. He steadied himself on the devices, taking his time to get reacquainted with them before walking across the boat’s surface.

Sure enough, Ivar could see the familiar shape of the coastline ahead. The ships were certainly not far as he could make out specific buildings and landmarks from where they sat on the ocean. His whole body became overcome with nerves and excitement at the realization that he was so close to the village. It was a good thing that he couldn’t swim, he thought, because if he could, he would have dived over the side and swam to shore quicker than the boats could carry him.

Ivar adjusted himself carefully on the crutches, keeping his balance as the ship slowly slid onto the gritty sand. He clambered down from his spot on the stern. The beach was packed with villagers, all eagerly waiting for their husbands and sons to return to them. He scanned the crowd for a familiar head of braided brown hair, pausing when he spotted her on the edge of the rocks.

Siv had to look twice to make sure what she was seeing was real, and not a cruel trick from the Gods. Ivar was standing, his weight supported by two long sticks tucked under his arms.

She ran to him as fast as her legs would allow, stopping short when she was just a few feet away from the man she had prayed for every day and night. Her hands trembled as they grasped at the hem of her skirts; her heart leaping into her throat with its impatient ‘thump, thump, thump’.

“Well?” Ivar asked, “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to hug your war hero?” She laughed with joy, wrapping her arms around his broad waist. Siv had never before seen Ivar stand so tall, and in this position, she barely comes to his chest. She tightened her grip, her cheek pressing into the heavy metal armor that protected his abdomen. Her happy tears fell uncontrollably, splashing down onto the blue fabric of her gown.

“I’ve missed you,” she spoke, barely above a whisper. Ivar shifted so that he could lean into her, bringing a crutch around to push her further into him. He nuzzled his face into her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of various medicinal herbs and her soap. They reluctantly pulled away when they heard shouts coming from behind them, the rest of the men clambering for their ‘hellos’ as well.

“Blóm (flower),” Floki yelled, “glory be to us all!” She chuckled as she was pulled into his bear-like grip, then passed to the rest of the group for their greetings. She approached Ubbe last, hugging him like a long lost brother.

“Ubbe, it is good to see you,” Siv said. “Margrethe has been feeling the pangs of labor for the last few days but has not yet given birth. It seems your young one has been patiently waiting for you.” Ubbe lit up at the news, excusing himself to seek out his wife.

When the commotion had died down a bit, Ivar cleared his throat, regaining her attention. “Will you come with me to the river?” He asked her. “These are beginning to make my arms hurt and I would like to sit.” She began walking toward their old favorite spot without hesitation, looking over her shoulder only once to make sure he was following her.

When they reached the familiar patch of soft grass Ivar dropped the wooden sticks, allowing himself to fall to the ground. He hummed in contentment as the pressure was taken from his arms, finally able to relax a bit for the first time since they left. Siv curled up into his side just as they did when they were children, resting her head against his shoulder. They sat like that for several moments, completely lost in the pleasant sensation of simply being together again.

Ivar was the one to break the silence, pulling the charm out from his shirt to give to her. “It worked, by the way,” he smiled. She returned his smile but refused to take the stone, wrapping his fingers back up over it with her own.

“I know, and that’s why you must keep it.” He didn’t argue with her, just pulled the leather over his neck and let it fall back into its place.

“I want to speak with you about Sigurd,” Ivar began but was shushed by Siv’s index finger on his lips. She shook her head slowly and returned to her position on his side, wrapping her legs up into her chest.

“I do not wish to speak about him right now.”

Ivar complied for the moment, but had every intention of finding out what exactly his brother had been doing while he was away.


	3. Welcome, Little One

The village always seemed a bit off in times like these. It was as if everyone, from the largest blacksmith to the smallest bird, was anxiously awaiting the arrival of Kattegat’s newest citizen. Ubbe stared into the mead filling his cup, his mind occupied with a mixture of excitement and worry. Margrethe had gone into labor late last night and, though he could hear her scream and cry, there was no news on her progress.

He knew that she was in good hands, Siv was skilled, but the dangers of childbirth were numerous. He thought about the many women that were lost bringing their children to the world, and he silently prayed to the Gods not to take her from him. A shrill wail could suddenly be heard from the next room and all of the air left Ubbe’s chest. The cup in his hands clattered to the floor with a ‘thud’ as his craned his neck to listen closer.

There it was. 

The unmistakable sound of a baby’s cry and a mother’s laugh of relief.

Siv cleaned up the infant quickly, cooing at him in an effort to silence his cries. If nothing else, the little thing had a healthy set of lungs and was eager to tell them all how unhappy he was. She checked him quickly, scanning his limbs and body for anything that could be a problem. She sighed happily when she found nothing of concern and wrapped the baby up in a swaddling cloth.

“Well done, Margrethe, he’s strong and healthy. Do we have a name for this little warrior?” Margrethe shook her head ‘no’, far too entranced with new the little being in Siv’s arms to speak. She grinned at the mother, handing the bundle off to her carefully. “That’s alright, the name shall choose him, then.”

The women sat in silence for a moment, Siv allowing Margrethe to adjust before she began to speak again. The little boy was impatiently wiggling in his mother’s arms, his whimpers showing his discomfort. She clicked her tongue to calm him before deciding that he must be hungry.

“He must be anxious to eat. Are you ready to try, Sister?” Margrethe nodded and uncovered her chest slowly, the pain from giving birth present all over her body. She brought the child to her chest, attempting to get him to latch on to her nipple, but he was stubborn. She frowned at the small baby who was thrashing around and refusing to take her breast.

“Come now, little one, you must eat.” Her eyes were panicked as she looked up to Siv, confusion and fear staining her features. She did not just go through excruciating pain for her child to starve to death. Siv smiled at the worry of the friend and smoothed down some of the fine strands of hair on his head. 

“Do not fret, he will learn. Use your finger to help guide him.” After a few unsuccessful tries, the babe was finally able to latch and begin to fill his belly with milk. Margrethe hummed at the initial discomfort, but relief washed over her body. “There now, wonderful,” Siv cooed, “I’m going to excuse myself to get Ubbe. I will be back soon if you need me.” Margrethe hardly noticed the woman speaking as she slipped herself out the door.

Ubbe was impatiently waiting outside to greet her, his face lit up with a beaming smile. She chuckled at him and pulled the large man in for a hug.   
“All is well, Margrethe is a natural. I have seen four-time mothers not handle the pain as well as she.” He held her at arms length from him, squeezing her shoulders with his excitement.

“So?” He asked, “were we blessed with a boy or a girl?” Siv shook herself out of his arms and laughed, gesturing to the door behind her.

“The servants are just cleaning up and then you may go see for yourself. Wait, have you seen Ivar?” She stopped him before he could enter the room, knowing that once he was with Margrethe and their son, he would be useless. He gave her an uninterested response of “he is in his sleeping quarters,” before leaving her alone.

Siv smiled to herself as she walked through the dirt paths of the village. She was exhausted from the evening’s events but knew that Ivar would be very interested in finding out about his new nephew. She shivered from the chill in the air, wondering if that was the reason he had locked himself away in his quarters. He was often plagued with aches when the winter came, and she mentally began preparing a treatment for his pain.

She entered the great hall, surprised to see that it was empty, before heading in the direction of Ivar’s room. The door was already opened a crack, flames from the fireplace flickering against the floor. She could see the Prince lying in bed, his legs propped up on a pile of pelts. Had it not been for his quiet groans, she would have assumed him to be asleep and left him alone until morning. Ivar was not one to show his pain freely, it’s a sign of weakness he once told her, so his whimpers worried her.

Siv pressed the door open the rest of the way softly to not disturb him. He opened his eyes slightly when he noticed the new presence but didn’t move. She approached the bed, placing a hand on his forehead to check for a possible fever. “Ivar,” she greeted, “how is the new Uncle this evening?” He didn’t feel warm to the touch, meaning the problem must have lied solely in his legs.

He looked up at her face, illuminated beautifully in the light of the fire, but grimaced when he realized the position he was in. He attempted to sit up, determined to mask his pain, but failed when his legs protested the move. Ivar pitifully slunk back down into the bed and cursed his weakness as he returned to his original place.

“Margrethe had the child then,” he was able to get out through gritted teeth. Siv nodded as she sat down next to him, skimming her hands across the furs.

“She did. A boy, though there is no name yet.” He could tell that she was tired. Dark circles had begun to form under her eyes and her usual meticulously braided hair had been allowed to flow freely in curls down her back. He wanted to reach out to her, tell her that she needed sleep, but he forced himself not to.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Ivar huffed. Siv shook her head at the comment, certain that he was simply embarrassed to be in this state in front of her. She was a close friend, but Ivar was very private about his condition. She extended her fingers out to massage one of his knees but retracted them immediately when he snapped at her. 

“Don’t touch me!”

His voice was deep, crisp and cold. Siv was familiar with how he could behave with others, but he had never spoken to her in this way. She assumed it was the pain making his mind foggy, but when she placed a hand on his knee again he harshly snatched her by the wrist. His grip was painfully tight as he threw it off of him with a growl.

“I told you not to touch me! Are you deaf or is it just your naive sense of duty telling you to tend to the poor cripple?” The words came so quickly she wasn’t sure if he even knew what he was saying. The glare in his eyes said that he was definitely sure of what he was saying.

“Ivar,” she began, “you’re hurting. I can help you.” He chuckled at her, but this laugh wasn’t the familiar one she had grown up with. This laugh was bitter and dark, evoking a chill to run all the way down her spine.

“Stop fucking lying to yourself Siv,” he snarled, “I can’t be helped. Why don’t you take your pity to someone else because I certainly don’t want it, or you.” She stared at him blankly, her mind reeling with no idea of what to do or say. She tried to calm him, assure him that everything was alright, but he had no interest in listening. “Leave me.”

Siv tightened her lips in shock, but lowered her head anyway and followed his order. Ivar had allowed the other healers in the village to tend to his legs when they began to ache, why had he reacted this way to her? She exited the room quickly, making sure the door was closed completely before she began to break. Tears were freely flowing down her reddened cheeks, his words slicing through to her core. She feebly attempted to dry the tears from her face with her palms, ashamed at how deeply a few sentences had hurt her.

She didn’t know how long she had been in the hall, her legs pushed up against her chest as she cried. She spent a ridiculous amount of time trying and failing to gather the strength to re-enter the room and fight back. Just as she was about to give up and return home, a familiar voice caught her attention.

“Good evening Siv, where’s Ivar?” Sigurd approached her, unaware that anything was amiss until a fresh batch of tears began to leak from her eyes. “Siv,” his voice called, “Gods, are you alright?” She gasped much like children do when they are unable to form words. Her eyes continued to water and she helplessly wrapped herself around the man’s torso.

Sigurd held her tightly in his arms, one hand smoothing her hair in an attempt to calm her. He scanned her face and body, trying to decide if she was physically hurt or simply upset.

“Shh, it’s alright. Can you tell me what happened?” When he spotted the rapidly reddening mark on her wrist, the answer suddenly became very clear.

“Did Ivar do this?”


End file.
